The familiar, sterile scent of antiseptic did absolutely nothing to calm the restless storm rolling off the Lycan King.
We were sitting in the stronghold's clinic, a quiet room tucked away from the chaos of the courtyard, even though I had told Demetrius at least half a dozen times that I was completely fine. The shallow scratches along my arms were already beginning to itch, a surefire sign that my wolf's advanced healing was well underway. By tomorrow morning, the skin would be as smooth as if the fight had never happened.
The pack doctor, an elderly wolf with kind eyes and a calm demeanor, stepped back from my side, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked over at the King, offering a patient, reassuring smile.
"The future Queen is perfectly healthy, Alpha," the doctor stated gently, e
